


We're a Couple of Misfits

by notlucy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Awkward Flirting, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Movies, Christmas Presents, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, Dancing, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oblivious Steve Rogers, POV Steve Rogers, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Schmoop, Secret Santa, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: Working retail can be unforgiving, especially around the holidays. Luckily, Steve works in a store that has a view of Santa’s Village, the happiest spot in the mall - the place where dreams come true, children never cry, and parents never lose their tempers. Oh, and the place where there may or may not be a hot-ass elf assistant Steve can’t stop daydreaming about.





	We're a Couple of Misfits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrishArgh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishArgh/gifts).



> This is my Stucky Secret Santa gift for TrishArgh - I hope you enjoy, and I hope anyone else stumbling upon this story enjoys it as well. 
> 
> Content note: it's rated mature for the acknowledgment that sex exists, but I was wavering between a mature/teen rating and erred on the side of caution.
> 
> Happy holidays!

Steve had been folding the green sweater for the better part of five minutes. Folding. Screwing up. Refolding. Screwing up. Refolding.

“Rogers.” Maria’s voice cut through his daydream. “Are you serious? How long does it take to fold a sweater.”

“Uh…” he looked up, caught red-handed by his boss, who did not fuck around when it came to the seasonal sweater displays. Not on the first Saturday in December. Not when their particular branch of Shield Outfitters was overrun with holiday shoppers.

“Go clean out the changing rooms,” she snapped, taking the sweater out of his hands, muttering something about doing it herself. Maria in a bad mood was not to be trifled with.

But honestly, how was Steve supposed to concentrate on sweater folding when Santa was right outside the store entrance? Well, no, he didn’t care about Santa. Not really. Truthfully, it was Santa’s hot-ass elf assistant that was keeping Steve from paying proper attention to his sweater-folding duties.

Seriously, though, what the hell, mall Santa staffing? Elves were supposed to be ruddy-cheeked and awkward. And short. Weren’t elves supposed to be short? North Pole elves were hilarious and tiny and good-humored. This elf was like...a Tolkien elf. Tall, dark, handsome, and intimidating, even in his stupid elf outfit. His ass looked good in the lederhosen, was all Steve was saying.

And so Steve found himself spending a lot of time on the clock wondering about the guy’s candy-cane striped stockings. Did they go all the way up, or were they more like thigh-highs that disappeared under the shorts? Could Steve peel them off with his teeth? Would the elf sit on his lap and tell him what he wanted for…?

 _“Rogers_ ,” Maria said, exasperated. “Go. Clean. Out. The. Changing. Rooms.”

Right. Work. Not thinking about the hot elf.

Someone had left a pile of clothing on one of the benches, everything inside out, nothing hung back on its hanger. And - ew - a wad of gum was stuck to one of the shirts. Sighing, he started to clean up, hating humanity and pushing all elf-related fantasies as far as he could get them from his mind.

As the day progressed, he only looked at the elf maybe five more times. The guy was kind of grumpy, though he smiled at the kids more often than the parents. Once, he even pulled a face at a toddler to make him laugh, which, aww. Steve decided he must secretly be a nice, hot elf, mostly because a million children were screaming in his face and he hadn’t screamed back.

It wasn’t all elf-watching, though. There were also the hordes of entitled assholes streaming into the store, thanks to their holiday sale. Every single suburbanite in the greater New Jersey area had come out to pay homage to the gods of capitalism and purchase overpriced clothes at twenty-five percent off. Steve hated their merchandise, but a job was a job. Shield Outfitters specialized in the kind of faux high-end style that made teenagers salivate and beg their parents to open their wallets. They were also incredibly snobby in their hiring practices, being that they only hired people who looked like Steve to work for them. Because apparently, guys who looked like him and girls who looked like his friend Natasha were good for business.

Natasha’s boyfriend Sam - Steve’s best friend - called her “intimidatingly hot,” and Steve would agree. But he didn’t necessarily see himself that way. He was okay, he knew he was attractive enough, but if the world were a fair and just place, the hot elf would be working for Shield and Steve would be wearing the lederhosen. Because the elf was way, way hotter than Steve. Possibly even hotter than Natasha, which was saying a lot.

The elf’s shift ended around two o’clock. Steve’s wasn’t over until five. Those three hours sucked without the view.

 

* * *

 

On Wednesday the store was slow for December, which meant more opportunities for elf-watching. Unfortunately, Santa was only doing a four-hour shift, so they shut the whole thing down at two. Steve had a break around then anyway, and without the elf around to distract him, he took the opportunity to head out to the loading dock for some fresh air.

The elf, done with his day, had apparently taken the same notion. He was leaning up against a railing on the loading dock, smoking a cigarette in his lederhosen and stockings, topped off with a worn leather jacket.

Steve was going to have _such_ weird dreams.

“Uh, hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” said the elf, before squinting at him. “You work at Shield, right?”

“Uh, yup,” he said because he seemed to be incapable of eloquence. “You’re an elf.”

Fuck.

The elf took a drag of his cigarette and looked at Steve coolly. “Yeah? How’d you figure that one out?”

“I mean, um, your outfit…”

“Eh,” the elf shrugged, “this could just be a fetish.”

Steve’s brain shorted out. “Uhh…”

“But yeah, I’m an elf. Ho, ho, ho.”

“That’s Santa’s line.” Christ, Rogers. Could you just _be cool_ for like one minute?

The elf didn’t say anything, just gave Steve a look as though he couldn’t quite believe the universe had produced such a massive dork.

“I’m Steve,” Steve said, desperate to recover.

“Bucky.”

Steve laughed. That was actually hilarious. “Ha ha, very funny. What’s your real name?”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “Bucky.”

Oh. Shit. “Um…”

“Did you,” he said, pushing away from the railing and cocking his head to the side. “Think that Bucky was like...my fake elf name?”

“Um…”

“Dude.”

“I’m sorry.”

“ _Dude_.” Bucky the not-elf sounded super disappointed in him. “That’s not cool.”

“I mean, to be fair, Bucky sounds like…”

“Okay, come on, don’t start _defending_ it,” Bucky protested, dropping what was left of his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t make fun of my name.”

“Understood.”

“I’m gonna go home now.”

“Yup, that seems fair.”

“Bye, Hermey.”

“Wait, what?”

Bucky flashed him a grin as he zipped up his coat over his ridiculous lederhosen. “That’s _your_ elf name, dick.”

Steve had that coming.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Hermey.”

Steve looked up to find the elf standing in front of him. Except, no, not the elf: Bucky. Which was his real name, not his elf name.

“Hi,” he said, and he just wasn’t going to address the nickname. “Um, Bucky, right?”

“Yup.” Bucky had apparently come to shop, as he had a pair of jeans and a sweater draped over his arm. His left arm, which was a prosthetic, Steve realized as he looked closer. Or at least the hand was. “I need a changing room.”

Steve looked at him, his mind going blank. “Huh?”

Bucky repeated himself, and Steve was reasonably sure he was trying not to smile. “I need a changing room. In your store. Where you work.”

“Oh, right! Um, right this way.”

He led Bucky to the back of the store where the changing areas were, opening up a stall for him. “Here you go. Let me know if you need a different size or anything.”

“Will do, Hermey,” Bucky said, stepping inside the stall and shutting the door behind him.

Steve was _not_ going to think about Bucky taking off his clothes like...two feet away from where he was standing. Nope. He was going to go and sort the rack of merchandise that needed to go back out instead.

Bucky emerged a couple minutes later, and so what if he happened to kind-of-sort-of be in Steve’s line of sight? And, wow, those jeans really clung to his thighs. Plus the dark green sweater looked like it had been tailored for him, tight across the shoulders, nipping in at the waist. Holy shit, he looked devastatingly good.

Not that Steve was looking.

“Whatcha think?” Bucky asked, shamelessly checking himself out in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall opposite the changing room.

“It--,” Steve started. “It’s a good color.” And God, _God_ , the candy-cane stockings were poking out the bottom of the jeans which meant he’d kept them on, and they were under his clothes, and why, why, why was Steve such a weirdo that he was developing a fetish for _that_?

“Yeah?” Bucky said, shrugging as he turned to check out his ass in the jeans. “I dunno. You really think so?”

“Um.” Eloquent to the end, Rogers. “It like...goes with your hair, I guess?” Goes with his hair? _Goes with his hair_?

Bucky gave him a funny look before shrugging. “Maybe,” he said. “It might be a little big.”

“No, it uh...looks like it fits.”

“Really?” He looked down at himself and shrugged. “I dunno. Come over here and take a closer look?”

Steve swallowed. Getting closer to Bucky was _not_ a good idea, not with the things he was imagining. But Bucky was a customer, and the customer was always right, in Steve’s experience. So he walked towards Bucky, not exactly sure what he was supposed to be judging.

“I mean, it looks fine…” he said as he approached.

Bucky took a step back into the changing room, the corners of his mouth turning up. Steve could see the green lederhosen lying in a heap on the floor behind him. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Steve stopped in the doorway, shrugging as he looked Bucky up and down. “It’s a nice sweater,” he offered because he couldn’t think of what else to say.

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” Bucky said. The statement was so out of left-field that Steve’s brain hadn’t fully processed a response before Bucky stepped closer and brought their lips together. The kiss was light, almost playful, and he pulled away after just a second or two.

“...okay,” Steve agreed belatedly, which made Bucky laugh.

“Not bad, Hermey,” he teased. “Thanks.”

“Um.”

“You wanna close the door and let me get changed? I gotta get back to work.”

Steve did as he was told, raising a hand to his mouth and running his fingers across his lips. The kiss had been unexpected, sure, but not unwelcome, and he wouldn’t mind giving it another shot. Too bad Bucky had places to be. Namely: Santa’s workshop.

When Bucky came out of the stall, he was back in his lederhosen, holding the sweater and jeans. “Here,” he said, pressing them into Steve’s hands.

“Aren’t um...do you want me to ring these up?” he asked, his voice breaking a little on the last word (because he was a thirteen-year-old going through puberty).

“Fuck no,” Bucky laughed. “I can’t afford this shit. I just wanted to kiss you.”

 _Oh_.

Steve stood dumbfounded as Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “See ya later, Hermey.”

He was gone before Steve could register a coherent response.

 

* * *

 

The second Saturday if December was Steve’s first day off in a week and a half. So, of course, he was spending it at the mall. He _hated_ being at the mall on his day off, but he’d promised Sam they would take his little sisters to see Santa. His _very_ little sisters, considering Sam and Steve were twenty-three and his sisters were seven and four. But Sam didn’t like using the word stepsisters because “it’s all family.”

Steve had forgotten their plans, and he’d had a minor freak-out when Sam texted him about it the night before. The thing was, he hadn’t seen Bucky since they’d kissed, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say to him when they were face-to-face. But hey, sometimes fate was kind: there was a chance Bucky wasn’t working.

Fate, as it turned out, was not on his side - Santa’s workshop was in full-swing, Bucky manning the tripod, taking pictures of kids on Santa’s lap. There was a second elf - this one a blonde in red lederhosen to match Bucky’s green - as well as Mrs. Claus in a terrible wig.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, which got him a glare from Sam and a pointed gesture towards his sisters. “Sorry. That’s uh. That’s the guy.”

“That’s the guy?” Sam asked. “He’s wearing velvet shorts.”

“They’re lederhosen,” Steve said.

“That...doesn’t make it better,” Sam said, helplessly.

Bucky noticed them when they were about ten people from the front of the line. Steve smiled and raised his hand to wave, but Bucky just scowled and looked away.

“Nice guy,” Sam said dryly.

Steve didn’t know what to say to that.

When they reached the front of the line, the blonde elf greeted them, instructing Sam’s sisters to go on up and sit with Santa. Sam had to go with them, of course, because the _idea_ of sitting on Santa’s lap was a lot more palatable than the reality.

Steve hung back, taking the opportunity to inch a little closer to Bucky, who was fiddling with some setting on the camera.

“Hey,” Steve said.

Bucky grunted.

“Um, how’s your day going?”

“Great. A baby puked on me earlier.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Bucky made another noncommittal noise as Sam’s sisters got settled, telling Santa just what they wanted. “Cute kids,” he said after a minute.

“Thanks,” Steve replied. “I mean uh, they’re not mine. But. I’ll tell their parents. Sam’s not their father. He’s their brother. It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ll bet,” Bucky replied, as Mrs. Claus instructed the girls to smile wide for the picture. Bucky snapped a couple of shots and glanced over at Steve. “Better go. Your boyfriend’s waiting.”

It took Steve a moment to register Bucky’s meaning. The girls had hopped off Santa’s lap and run to Sam, who was holding them both by the hand and looking at Steve impatiently with an expression that, yeah, one might reserve for a boyfriend. Except for the fact that Sam was so very straight and also dating Natasha. And Steve’s sexuality lately was pretty much lederhosen-clad elves to the exclusion of all other humans on earth.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he blurted as the next kid stepped forward. “He’s just my friend.”

Bucky visibly relaxed, his face softening as he turned towards Steve. “Oh,” he said, smiling. “Good to know.”

“Yeah, um…”

“Bucky,” came a warning from the blonde elf. “We’re getting behind.”

“Sorry, Hermey,” Bucky said, that slight smile now a full-fledged grin. “Duty calls. See you later?”

“Uh huh,” Steve agreed, as Bucky went to start wrangling the line.

“What was that all about?” Sam asked when Steve caught up with them, the girls begging (and begging, and begging) for a trip to the food court.

“I...nothing,” Steve said. “Let’s go get ice cream.”

(As a distraction technique, Steve found the promise of sweets really worked on every member of Sam’s family, big or small.)

 

* * *

 

“Just ask him,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes as Steve stared moonily out the window of the store.

“What if he says no?”

“Then he says no. It’s not that big of a deal. I say no to guys all the time. They’ve all survived me.”

“I…”

“Ask. Him.”

Natasha was like a dog with a bone, so the next time Steve had a break, he wandered towards Santa’s display. Bucky was sitting on a giant gumdrop, playing with his phone. It was a slow day at the North Pole.

“So...hey,” he greeted, hating to disturb what might be a critical text.

Bucky looked up, smiling when he saw it was Steve. “Hey, Herm…”

“Hermey, I know,” Steve cut him off. “Listen, um, my friend Tony has this stupid Christmas party every year, and I know it’s last minute but it’s this Friday and I was just wondering if you might want to go with me and like, it’s a pajama party but please don’t feel obligated and you don’t have to bring anything but like…”

“Whoa,” Bucky said, holding a hand up. “I missed about ninety percent of that. But I got the gist. Friday night? Christmas party? Wear pajamas?”

“Yes.”

“I’d love to.”

“Great!” Steve said, relief rushing through him. “Great, that’s...excellent. I’ll see you then.”

Awesome. This was awesome. He had a date. They were going to Tony’s party, and it was going to be amazing.

“Uh, Hermey?” Bucky’s voice brought him up short just as he turned to head back into the store.

“...yes?”

“You don’t want to like...exchange numbers? Make some actual plans? Or was I just supposed to figure out where your friend lives through our obvious telepathic connection?”

Fuuuuuuuck, Steve wasn’t cool. A few minutes later, they had plans to meet at the Christopher Street PATH station Friday night at eight. Even better: he had Bucky’s number in his phone. Which was maybe the most significant accomplishment of his entire life.

 

* * *

 

Steve realized the futility of a pajama party as he stood, shivering, near the entrance to the station. It was twenty-four degrees outside, he was in pajama pants, and Bucky was three minutes late. Not that he’d been anxiously checking his phone or anything. Nope, he just needed to look at his email. Nothing to do with Bucky at all. Which was why he was totally chill when a voice piped up to his left.

“Hey, Hermey.”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, he turned to find Bucky standing there with a grin on his face, bundled up in a black wool pea coat and bright blue scarf.

“Shit,” he said, recovering nicely. “You scared me.”

“You were looking at your phone. Are you just wearing pajama pants?”

“...it’s a pajama party. I told you that.”

“Uh yeah,” Bucky agreed. “It’s freezing. I’m wearing them under my jeans.”

Huh. Bucky was smart.

“Whatever, my friend’s place isn’t that far.”

“Cool,” Bucky said. “Lead the way.”

Steve did, freezing his ass off, regretting his choice of reindeer-printed fleece in public. He really should have brought them to change into. Or put them under his clothes, like Bucky the genius.

“Is your friend rich?” Bucky asked as they walked. “This is a nice neighborhood.”

“Oh, uh, kind of,” Steve shrugged. “His dad bought him an apartment when he graduated. I know him from college.”

Letting out a low whistle, Bucky looked around at the townhouses. “Well, shit. That’s rich.”

“I’m not. Rich, I mean.” Steve felt as though he had to clarify. “He’s just my friend.”

Bucky glanced over at him and smiled. “I didn’t think you were. You’re working retail. Unless you’re just doing that for fun…”

“Not a lot of people hiring illustrators,” Steve admitted. “It helps pay the bills while I’m looking for freelance work.”

“Cool.”

Silence fell - the kind of silence that only existed during first dates. Steve broke it after a little while because he couldn’t stand the awkwardness. “How about you? How’d you uh, get into the elf game?”

“Oh, I went to elf college,” Bucky said seriously. “Majored in gumdrop engineering, but they’re not hiring in Santa’s workshop right now, so...I’m gigging around malls, trying to make ends meet.”

“Funny.”

“I try.” He went quiet for a moment, pulling his coat a bit tighter around himself. “Honestly? I was in the military. Got uh…” He cleared his throat, and Steve could make his own assumptions. “Well. I’m not doing that anymore. And uh, my uncle knows the guy who does Santa, so...he got me the gig.”

Steve nodded, unsure of precisely what to say, so he just bumped his left shoulder against Bucky’s right one and smiled. “I’m glad you got the gig.”

Bucky turned his head, smiling right back. “Me, too. There’s this cute guy who works in Shield, and I get to look at his ass all day when he’s folding sweaters.”

“I...oh, that’s me,” Steve realized, his ears going hot at the teasing. Bucky laughed, though not cruelly. He seemed to be pretty into Steve, in fact, moving closer and slipping an arm around his waist. Steve bit his lip and tried not to second-guess things, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders in return.

It didn’t take them much longer to reach Tony’s building - one of the new, hideous chrome and glass monstrosities lining the West Side Highway. Steve not-so-secretly thought they were a blight on the city. But the amenities were world-class, according to Tony, and Steve had to admit the views couldn’t be beaten.

They heard the party before they saw it, _Christmas Wrapping_ floating down the hallway when they got off the elevator. Steve reluctantly pulled away from Bucky and opened the door onto a scene of sheer holiday debauchery. Typical Tony party - people everywhere, ridiculous light-up decor, and the smell of booze, cinnamon, and peppermint all mingling in the air.

“Steve!” A voice rang out, and there was Sam, wrapping him up in a bear hug. “Hey, Tony’s got _mulled_ cider this year. You ever had mulled cider? That means there’s booze in it. Did you...oh, hey, Natasha!”

Natasha, never far from Sam’s side, sidled right up to him and under his arm. “Everybody knows what mulled cider is,” she teased. “Steve, hi. And you must be Buddy the Elf. What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh my God,” Steve said, ignoring her. “Bucky, Natasha. Natasha, Bucky. And Sam, you met before.”

“Hi,” Bucky said, and they were all having to be a little louder over the music. “You work at Shield too, right?”

“She got me the job…” Steve said, just as there came a crash and a shriek from somewhere near the window. “Uh oh…”

“That sounded like Clint,” Natasha said. “Come on, Sam.”

“Nice friends,” Bucky remarked, once they had gone to deal with the impending disaster. “I’m gonna take my pants off now.”

“Huh?” Oh, right. Pajamas. “Yeah, you want to go...oh, I guess you don’t.”

Bucky, who was apparently born without shame, had started taking off both his coat and his jeans to reveal a - Jesus - full red and black onesie, printed in a fair-isle pattern of reindeer and snowflakes, complete with a hood. How in the happy fuck had he gotten jeans on over that?

Steve was a little in love with the fact that Bucky was the kind of guy who felt comfortable wearing an adult-sized onesie on a first date.

“Where the hell did you get that?” he asked.

Bucky blinked, looking down at himself, then back up at Steve. “Target? They sell everything at Target!”

Steve felt considerably less cool in his pajamas as he took off his coat. His ugly Christmas sweater had a Star Wars theme, and it clashed with the reindeer pants. It was hard to compete with Bucky, who was already garnering a lot of attention from their fellow party-goers.

“Let’s find the drinks!” Bucky enthused. Steve was grateful for the request, as it distracted him from thinking about whether or not Bucky was wearing anything _under_ the onesie.

Two shots of tequila and several cups of lethal-looking punch later, Bucky had another suggestion. “Let’s dance!”

“I’m a lousy dancer…” Steve cautioned. Bucky didn’t give a shit, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him out into the crush of people. Steve was stiff, anxious about embarrassing himself. Bucky was immediately at-ease, his right hand resting lightly on Steve’s waist, the left staying at his side.  

“I like this song,” Bucky shouted over the music. Steve didn’t know it. Couldn’t focus on it with Bucky pressing right up against him like that.

“Uh huh,” he agreed, tentatively bringing his right hand to rest against Bucky’s lower back. Bucky was a good dancer. Steve found himself relaxing as they moved together - all he really had to do was stand there while Bucky set the rhythm. The alcohol helped, too.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Bucky said after a while, shouting to be heard over the music. Steve started to reply, but then Bucky was kissing him again, light and easy, testing the waters. And damn it if Bucky wasn’t good at catching him off-guard. Not that he minded. He was quick to respond this time, tightening his hold on Bucky and deepening the kiss. It had been a while since he’d last made out with anyone, but the worries he’d had about being out of practice were laid to rest when Bucky sighed against his mouth, bringing his prosthetic up to rest against the back of Steve’s neck, drawing him closer.

Bucky tasted like fruit punch and spearmint, tequila and something he couldn’t quite identify. Steve was just the right kind of tipsy to investigate further, his tongue pushing into Bucky’s mouth as the kiss took a turn towards the sloppy. He could feel Bucky’s heart beating against his chest, their bodies crushed together while the music pulsed around them. It felt good, _really_ good. He hadn’t made out on a dance floor with anyone since college. And then - oh, hey, there was Bucky, the unmistakable press of a half-hard dick against Steve’s thigh.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled, grinning sheepishly as he pulled back just far enough to rest their foreheads together. “You feel good.”

“S’okay,” Steve said. “Wanna get another drink?”

“Uh huh.”

They got one more drink. Then one more. Then another after that. Steve was giddy. Bucky was _so_ nice and cute and funny. And he was a good kisser. And he was wearing a onesie. And sometimes he was an elf. And…

Whoops. Tony was going to do something stupid involving an ice sculpture and a blow torch. He hoped Pepper was somewhere nearby with a fire extinguisher. His friends were great. Bucky was great. This was the best first date ever.

“Hey,” Bucky said, returning from a trip to the bathroom and flopping down on Tony’s squishy, fancy couch, pressing his mouth right up near Steve’s ear, so it tickled. “I wanna get out of here. You wanna get out of here?”

“Uh huh,” Steve agreed. “Where we going?”

“Your place?”

“Okay,” he said. “Tony’s gonna do something stupid. We should leave before the cops come.”

“Yeah. Wait, which one’s Tony?”

“The one doing something stupid.”

“Oh. Hey, you have such cute ears…”

Heh. Bucky was biting his ears. Bucky was hilarious.

The next clear memory Steve had, he was standing on the street. He didn’t remember getting there, but Bucky was with him, holding his hand. Bucky was also holding his jeans, and they both had their coats, though Steve couldn’t get the zipper to work on his. He was so focused on getting the zipper up, in fact, that he missed what Bucky was saying and only tuned in at the end of the sentence.

“...live?”

“Huh?”

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, we can’t go to my place.”

“...Steve. You _said_.”

“I live with my mom!”

Bucky was quiet, ruminating on that crucial fact. Blinking, he leaned in close and looked up at Steve beseechingly. “I can be very. Very. Quiet.”

It was a bad idea. Steve knew it was a bad idea. Which was why he found himself unlocking the door to the small apartment he shared with his mother thirty minutes later. Bucky had the giggles over the ‘Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal’ doormat Steve had gotten for his mom as a Christmas present when he was fifteen. She’d thought it was hilarious at the time, and now it graced their doorstep every year. He didn’t know what to think about Bucky and his mother having the same sense of humor.

“She will _wake up_ ,” he hissed, squirming away when Bucky pinched his rear end.

“I’m great with moms!” Bucky insisted, still too damn loud. “I’m ch-charm-churm...I’m suave.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes, I am. Where’s your bedroom? Are we gonna do it in your twin bed?”

“Please shut up.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand, willing him to keep his sexy mouth shut, dragging him down the hallway and into his bedroom which, yes, had a twin bed. With Star Wars sheets. Working at Shield didn’t exactly leave a lot of money left over, and he liked to help his mom out where he could. He told himself it was like living with roommates, but the truth of the matter was that Sarah Rogers was great and he’d take her over some random roomie any day: she cooked for him, she was funny, and they never ran out of toilet paper.

“Oh my God,” Bucky exclaimed, pausing only long enough to take his coat off before flopping down, face-first, onto the bed. “This is _amazing_.”

Steve couldn’t help but admire the sight of Bucky’s fleece-clad ass as he lay there. It was a good ass, even in the baggy onesie. “I’m uh, gonna go get us some water. You just...I will be right back.”

“Oh, I’ll be waiting for you, pal,” Bucky agreed, in what Steve assumed was supposed to be a lascivious voice, but was actually just sort of slurred and cute. Steve really wanted to make out with him for a while, even if they were both probably too drunk for anything more than that.

So, of course, Bucky was asleep by the time he got back from the kitchen.

“Aw, fuck,” Steve sighed, setting the water on the bedside table and looking down at Bucky’s prone form.

It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to shove Bucky over enough that they could share the bed. He set the alarm on his phone before closing his eyes - kicking Bucky out before his mother woke up was of primary importance. Well, no, primary importance was asking for a second date.

Steve was as surprised as anyone, then, when he woke up to Bucky kissing the back of his neck, sunlight streaming in through the windows, the smell of bacon in the air.

“Huh?” he managed, half-awake, definitely hungover.

“Good morning, Hermey,” Bucky said, licking a stripe up his neck before pulling back with a smirk on his face. He looked like shit, too. Or, well, as close to shit as a guy as handsome as Bucky could ever look. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“It’s...no, it’s cool. What _time_ is it?” Groping for his phone, he realized his mistake: he’d set the alarm for four in the afternoon instead of four in the morning. And now it was nearly nine.

“So that’s probably your mom making the bacon out there, right?” Bucky said.

“Uh huh.” Steve was going to die.

“Think she’d give me some?”

“Bucky, _no._  She’s working today, she’s busy. Just hang out here until she’s gone, okay?”

“What if I have to piss?”

“Hold it.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. Hey, do I get a second date, or did I fuck the first one up too badly?”

“What?” Steve couldn’t process Bucky’s thought process so quickly - too hungover for that. “Yes, sure. I mean, I’d like that.”

“Great. No drinking this time. But maybe more dancing. That was fun.” Smirking, he leaned in for a kiss, and Steve was somewhat gratified to note that even Bucky couldn’t escape morning breath. Although, by that logic, his own breath was probably pretty rank.

“I gotta go brush my teeth,” Steve mumbled, smiling in spite of himself as he pulled away and ran to the bathroom.

When he came back, Bucky was gone. He had a brief moment of confusion, followed by total panic when he heard the sound of conversation coming from the kitchen. Oh, fuck.

“...met at work,” Bucky was saying as Steve walked in. And there he was, sitting at their kitchen table, chewing on a piece of bacon, looking as though he’d always been there.

“Of course,” Sarah nodded before she noticed Steve in the doorway. She didn’t have to say anything, he could tell she was holding back laughter. They both had terrible poker faces. “Morning, baby. You hungry?”

“Um.”

“Bucky was just saying you two met at work.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded, glaring daggers at Bucky, who just grinned. Resigned, Steve slid into an empty chair.

“Did you have fun last night?” She put some toast down in front of him before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You smell like a bar.”

“Ma, come on…” he said, laughing as he ducked away.

“Well, you do. So I’ll assume you had a good time. You got in pretty late.”

“Not _that_ late,” he shrugged, taking a bite of toast, which was perfect. Sarah Rogers made perfect toast every time.

“I heard you come in,” she said, a smile on her face as she went to get her own plate. “So, Bucky, tell me about yourself.”

Bucky hadn’t been lying - he was really good with moms. By the time Sarah left for her shift at the hospital, she had Bucky promising he’d come over again soon, and that, of course, he was welcome at their house anytime.

“You said you wouldn’t come out here,” Steve said the minute she was out the door.

“I specifically never said that. I was meticulous in my phrasing.”

Thinking back on their conversation, Steve scowled. “I...okay, so you’re _technically_ correct.”

“Technically correct is the best kind of correct,” Bucky grinned, grabbing Steve’s hand and pulling him in for a quick kiss. “I like your mom.”

“She likes you.”

“I like her son.”

Steve smiled, looking down at their entwined hands. “He likes you.”

 

* * *

 

**One Year Later…**

“That thing’s going to drop needles everywhere, and I’m going to end up cleaning them up,” Steve said.

Bucky looked up from where he was arranging their little tree in the front window of their tiny studio apartment. “Are you saying I’m messy?”

“Uh, yup. You’re disgusting.”

“You love me.”

“Marginally.”

Getting to his feet, Bucky crossed to the sofa and pressed an obnoxiously loud kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “You want your first present?” he asked once he’d pulled back.

“Buck, it’s the first week of December.”

“Awesome, Father Time, do you want it or not?”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Steve said, grinning as he waved Bucky off. “Yes, I want my present.”

“Cool.” Bucky went over to his backpack, pulling out a wrapped box, which he presented to Steve with a flourish, standing over the couch to watch him open it.

Steve wasted no time, tearing off the paper to find an ornament inside. And not just any ornament, but one that featured a particular blond elf. “Aw,” he grinned, looking up at Bucky. “Hermey!”

“For our tree,” Bucky said. “I thought he should be the first one to go up.”

They spent a few minutes deciding just where Hermey was best featured on the tree. Once they had him in his new home, Steve leaned over and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “Perfect,” he said. “Too bad there’s no Bucky elf to go with him.”

“Maybe next year,” Bucky smirked.

“Maybe.”

“Want me to go get the lederhosen?”

Steve really did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr at [notlucy](https://notlucy.tumblr.com).
> 
> [This is what Bucky's onesie looks like](https://78.media.tumblr.com/6772b0b488ab11f0633f1ad0bb3945a7/tumblr_inline_p1l50mWIjR1qb66wc_540.jpg). 
> 
> Also, if you're wondering why Bucky calls Steve Hermey, this is Hermey:
> 
> And this is the ornament Bucky buys for the tree: 
> 
> Late breaking news, frau-argh aka TrishArgh aka the recipient of this fic has created the most AMAZING ART of Elf!Bucky. I squealed out loud when I saw it. I've embedded it below, and you can also reblog it from the [Tumblr post](http://frau-argh.tumblr.com/post/169010102319/were-a-couple-of-misfits). Thank you, thank you, thank you! 
> 
>  


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